


Burn My Shadow

by sassybell (karenec)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is a BAMF, Ficlets, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, away mission gone pear-shaped, referenced hostage situation, slight angst and schmoop, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karenec/pseuds/sassybell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk felt ready to burst out of his own skin because he was angry. His gut clenched a little tighter every time he remembered those moments in the transporter room when the away team had returned, its members bloodied, dead, or missing. He was angry with the team for getting separated, with Spock for leaving crewmen behind, with McCoy for getting himself captured. Kirk knew his feelings were unjustified, of course, and besides, he was most angry with himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn My Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This is short fic that I challenged myself to write in under 5K words (something that I have a lot of trouble doing, heh). I'll probably write more ficlets in between other writing projects.

When all was said and done--and this clusterfuck of an away mission was over--Jim Kirk was going to have words with Leonard McCoy.

 

Kirk strode into the transporter room, Spock and Uhura at his heels and a security detail following in their wake. Mr. Scott nodded curtly at the captain from his seat at the control panel, his grim expression reflecting Kirk's mood.

 

The _Enterprise_ had been in orbit over Raipra for over forty-eight hours, the last twelve spent in crisis mode. Starfleet had sent them to assist the planet's inhabitants in ending a decade-long civil war. Exhaustive communications were held with Raipra's governing body to ensure the safety of the away team, and the mission details so meticulously planned out, Kirk elected to remain aboard and let Spock lead the team.

 

Kirk figured that was where he'd gone wrong because, naturally, everything went pear-shaped almost from the start.

 

The team beamed down at 0700 as planned, and Spock ordered the beam out only minutes later, shouting to make himself heard over the sound of weapons fire. Kirk raced into the transporter room, his heart nearly stopping as he realized half of the team was missing and one of the security officers lay dead.

 

Stepping on to the transporter pad now, Kirk met his chief engineer's gaze. "Mr. Scott."

 

"Aye, sir."

 

"It is now 1900 hours. Negotiations with the warring factions of Raipra will begin within the hour. Dr. McCoy's and Lieutenant Valenti's retrieval from the Beipran rebels will be conducted in tandem." And there, the anger that had been building in Kirk’s gut all day rose again, crushing his nerves and apprehension.

 

"Pursuant to the Raipran High Council's order, there will be no communications between the away team and the _Enterprise_ until the conclusion of negotiations. Should the away team fail to communicate with the bridge for a period of longer than twelve hours, we will be in violation of Regulation 476.9. As Captain, I accept responsibility for this failure."

 

Scotty's expression darkened. "Acknowledged, Captain."

 

Kirk nodded once. "You have the conn, Mr. Scott," he ordered before facing forward. "Energize."

 

~oOo~

 

Kirk blew out a breath as the transporter's golden shimmer receded, his gaze moving to take in the details of the great hall around him. Shrapnel scars and scorch marks marred the once white walls, and the stone floor beneath his feet was pitted and cracked. Rosy-gold light from Raipra's twin suns streamed through small skylights overhead, lending the hall a delicate, wavering glow and throwing the three figures on Kirk's left into stark relief.

 

Kirk's stomach fell even as he straightened to attention. While humanoid, the figures were nearly three meters in height and far too slender to be Terran. Shaking off a feeling of foreboding, Kirk walked forward, coming to a stop as the figure in the middle bowed.

 

"I am Zeeta Kir, Captain Kirk." The Raipran's silver eyes shone against xyr violet skin, a voice like crystal bells wrapping elegantly around the Standard syllables. "Welcome to Raipra."

 

Kirk inclined his head in return, details from the mission briefings he'd read streaming through his brain. "Ambassador Kir." He schooled his expression, aware that Raiprans regarded displays of emotion with deep suspicion. "On behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, I extend a hand in friendship to the Raipran people."

 

~oOo~

 

Kirk and his team spent hours hashing through the details of the peace treaty with the High Council and rebels before McCoy and Valenti were even mentioned.

 

The captain listened to each side attentively, his expression impassive, and each time his focus threatened to waver--his stubborn brain impatient for word of his crewmen--Kirk ruthlessly wrenched it back on line. As far as Starfleet was concerned, the safe return of McCoy and Valenti was second priority to the Raipran peace negotiations, and no amount of anxiety on Kirk's part was going to change that.

 

He reminded himself of this fact as the rebel general finally raised the topic of political prisoners.

 

"The Beipra will not sign the treaty until our comrades-in-arms have been released from the capitol's prison," xe stated, gaze moving between Raipran Minister Sceer and Kirk.

 

The Minister's expression remained unchanged. "The High Council expects the same, General Phyyre. The hostages taken during this morning's battle must be released if these talks are to continue."

 

Phyyre turned a measuring look on Kirk. "I assume it is the release of your crewmen specifically that will ensure Starfleet's continued participation, Captain Kirk?"

 

"Starfleet's mission has not changed, General--we are here to assist the Raipran people in ending this war." Kirk folded his hands on the tabletop, his gaze never wavering. "It is my personal mission, however, to ensure the safe return of my crewmen and to avoid any further casualties."

 

The skin of Phyyre’s forehead puckered slightly, though Kirk was unsure if it signaled disquiet or amusement. "As a soldier, Captain, surely you understand that the loss of life is sometimes inevitable."

 

Fire flashed through Kirk's chest, his anger nearly stealing his breath. He knew only too well that losing control would accomplish nothing, however, and, after a long moment, nodded. "As you say. Regardless, I expect Lieutenant Commander McCoy and Lieutenant Valenti to be released, General Phyyre. Immediately."

 

Phyyre's steel-grey eyes shone as xe studied Kirk, the crease in xyr forehead relaxing until the purple skin lay smooth. Xe motioned to one of the lieutenants standing nearby, the two murmuring quietly for a moment before Phyyre turned back to Kirk and the lieutenant departed the hall.

 

"The hostages currently detained at Beipran headquarters are alive," Phyyre stated, xyr tone almost light. "They will be conveyed to the capitol while negotiations continue."

 

~oOo~

 

Negotiations dragged on as Raipra's suns set. Braziers filled with white crystals were brought in, illuminating the hall with a violet-tinted light that leached the color from the Terrans' skins.

 

Kirk's mood darkened as the hours passed, his body buzzing restlessly though he sat almost motionless. His face ached from being forced straight for so long, the air in the hall was hot and dry, and though the Raiprans kept up a supply of potable water, they did not break for food and only reluctantly to allow Kirk's team to relieve themselves.

 

The _Enterprise_ crew had endured worse, of course; the Raiprans were ignorant of Terran creature comforts, but not overtly cruel. Kirk felt ready to burst out of his own skin because he was angry. His gut clenched a little tighter every time he remembered those moments in the transporter room when the away team had returned, its members bloodied, dead, or missing. He was angry with the team for getting separated, with Spock for leaving crewmen behind, with McCoy for getting himself captured.

 

Kirk knew his feelings were unjustified, of course, and besides, he was most angry with himself. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be talked into staying behind. And he should _never_ have let McCoy set foot on the goddamned transporter pad without being there himself to back the man up.

 

The sound of boots against the stone floor echoed through the hall, and Kirk looked up as a group made its way forward. His anger began to ebb as he spied two figures amidst a knot of much taller Raiprans. McCoy's and Valenti's Starfleet uniforms were dirty and rumpled, the left sleeve of Valenti's red tunic missing entirely. Both crewmen were moving stiffly, and a large brown stain spread across McCoy's left side, a hole in the blue fabric only partially obscured by the med kit on his belt.

 

Kirk's first clear view of McCoy's face erased what was left of his anger. The doctor was startlingly pale, his skin gleaming with perspiration as he was led with the others to stand before the negotiations table. He and Valenti stood tall, however, their bodies rigid with perfect military stillness, their expressions carefully blank and eyes trained over the heads of the negotiators and Starfleet officers. Whatever McCoy and Valenti had been through that day, they were unbowed.

 

A wave of fierce pride rolled through Kirk. He could read exhaustion in the dark smudges under his crewmen’s eyes, and the tension in the set of McCoy's jaw spoke of pain. The captain said nothing, of course, his face still and his hands clasped on top of the table while the Beipran rebels saluted their general. Phyyre made a show of releasing the hostages to the High Council and Kirk, who wasted no time instructing Hendorff to escort McCoy and Valenti to a seating area located nearby.

 

Another hour passed, then two, as the talks continued, and Kirk became aware of increased activity and murmuring from his crewmen behind him. However, it wasn't until the next break was called that he turned around and realized that McCoy, Valenti, and Hendorff were nowhere to be seen.

 

Kirk was on his feet at once. "What the fuck?" he breathed, acutely aware of Spock's calming touch at his elbow.

 

"They must be outside," Uhura guessed, the thrumming tension in her voice propelling Kirk toward the exit before she'd finished speaking.

 

He found them clustered near the entrance doors of the hall, McCoy and Valenti seated on a stone bench with Hendorff standing over them, several Raipran guards hovering close by. Hendorff's lips were pressed tightly together, and Kirk could read concern in the security officer's gaze when he looked up.

 

"They're dehydrated," he told Kirk, his voice pitched low. "They haven't had any food since they were captured, and very little water. I tried to bring them outside for some fresh air but the guards insisted we stay inside where it's safe.

 

"I thought ... I thought Dr. McCoy was going to pass out, Captain." He shook his head as Kirk's stomach twisted. "If there's any way to get them out of here, sir, we shouldn't hesitate."

 

Kirk stared at McCoy and Valenti, his stomach burning with anger all over again, though this time none of it was directed at his crewmen. McCoy and Valenti looked worse than when they'd been brought in, the adrenaline they'd worked up on the journey into the capitol long since burned off. Valenti's brown skin was ashy and McCoy was so wan even his lips were white. Both met Kirk’s gaze as he squatted down before them.

 

Kirk was aware of the echo of Spock's heels against the floor, but couldn't look away from the exhaustion in McCoy's changeable eyes. God fucking damnit, how he _hated_ feeling helpless.

 

"Total communications blackout is a stipulation of this mission," he explained, the quiet words bitter on his tongue. "I can't hail the ship until the negotiations have concluded."

 

McCoy simply nodded, one hand coming up to squeeze Valenti's shoulder when the lieutenant's head drooped forward slightly, her control slipping for just a moment.

 

"I need you to hold on until then," Kirk told them, swallowing against a wave of nausea at McCoy's nod.

 

"Aye, sir," the doctor whispered, his voice so hoarse that Kirk's own throat ached in sympathy.

 

He drew a breath of relief as Spock returned, jugs of water from the negotiation table in each hand. He handed one to McCoy, who immediately gave it to Valenti.

 

"Go slow, Lieutenant, or you'll be sick," he instructed, looking at Hendorff with gratitude as the security officer stooped to guide Valenti's unsteady hands.

 

McCoy accepted the second jug from Spock with a sigh. "Thank you, Commander."

 

Kirk hardly had time to draw breath before the guards at the top of the stairs were motioning him back inside.

 

~oOo~

 

Negotiations between the High Council and Beipran rebels concluded at 1100 the following morning. The away team beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_ and directly to the medbay at 1235.

 

Kirk stood by as his crewmen were treated, chewing his way through the packet of protein nibs someone had pressed into his hand. He nodded at Valenti and the others as they were released but kept his gaze on McCoy, who lay quietly on a biobed while Dr. M'Benga examined him.

 

"Low blood pressure ... slight anemia," M'Benga observed. "Mild tachycardia and dehydration with slight temperature elevation--"

 

"Side effects of being shot," McCoy murmured, his tone as dry as dust.

 

M'Benga nodded, fingers moving nimbly over the biobed's controls. "I'm going to push platelets and fluids but I'd like to hold off on the pain killers until after we get a closer look at that wound and some food in your stomach, if you can bear it. Discomfort on a scale of one to ten ..?"

 

McCoy hesitated for a second, his gaze flicking to meet Kirk's. "Five."

 

Laying down the tricorder, M'Benga picked up a pair of shears and reached beneath the surgical support frame, carefully cutting away McCoy's tunic and undershirt. The round wound in McCoy's side was vivid, its red edges indicative of recent and hasty dermal generation. Kirk's stomach twisted at the understanding that McCoy had been walking around with a barely-healed hole in his side for over twenty-four hours--fuck, he'd marched ten kilometers in that state.

 

Laying aside the shears, M'Benga checked the bed's readings, leveling a look at McCoy that sent a chill through Kirk.  "Laceration of the left abdominus rectus," he stated, "with significant bruising to the surrounding tissues and spleen. Class II hemorrhage, I'd wager, probably not enough for a transfusion, but enough to make you uncomfortable. Particularly as performed field surgery on yourself."

 

"It was a high speed projectile. Similar to the bullets once used on Terra a couple of centuries ago." McCoy raised a hand and rubbed at his eyes. "The rebels wouldn't treat me. Couldn't really, their physiology is so different from ours--but they let me keep my kit and gave us a room to work in. Made sure we had some fresh water to keep the wound irrigated. It was a clean through and through."

 

"Which explains why the wound--"

 

"Looks like shit," McCoy finished, scoffing when M'Benga rolled his eyes. "I barely managed to close the exit wound before the regen unit burned out, Geoff--I know it looks worse than it is."

 

M'Benga's brow furrowed. "I'll be the judge of that, Len. I'm not sure anyone but you would left the planet under their own power, to be honest--another couple of centimeters and it would have been your spleen."

 

Kirk knew enough about human anatomy to understand what the two doctors were not saying as they exchanged glances; another couple of inches and McCoy probably would have bled out on Raipra. Kirk and his team would have brought the doctor back aboard the _Enterprise_ in a body bag.

 

"On the plus side," M'Benga was saying, "bacterial infection is limited and the appearance of the scar can be improved."

 

McCoy nodded. "Valenti helped. She held the light source and mirror for me so I could see what I was doing, gave me the microbial injections. Her focus may be communications, but she's got nerves of steel that rival Uhura's." He frowned, his gaze meeting Kirk's before bouncing away again. "Don't tell Uhura I said that."

 

Kirk hid a smile and stepped closer to the biobed. "I'll be sure to leave that out of the mission report, Lieutenant Commander," he teased before turning to M'Benga.

 

"How long are you going to keep him?"

 

"An hour or two at the most," M'Benga replied, holding up one hand at Kirk's raised brows. "The wound looks nasty, but it's healing, and the damage to the internal organs was limited to bruising. You heard me say we're pushing fluids and nutrients and, other than antimicrobials and painkillers, there's nothing more we can do that adequate nutrition and rest won't take care of on their own."

 

Kirk nodded, licking his lips as he swallowed down his nerves. "And the low blood pressure and rapid heartbeat?"

 

"Both are to be expected given the blood loss he experienced. Dr. McCoy’s body has been hard at work replenishing its own supply and as long as we can keep ahead of the infection, he should be right as rain in a few days."

 

Kirk grinned. "You're starting to sound like him, you know."

 

M'Benga shrugged, his dark eyes shining with warmth. "Hardly surprising--the man's got idioms and metaphors to suit any occasion."

 

McCoy's scowl loosened the tension in Kirk's gut--all at once the captain felt like he could really breathe. "The man is _right_ _here_ , for Christ's sake, and I'll thank you both not to talk about me like I'm a goddamned piece of furniture." 

 

McCoy grunted as the medbay doors slid open and Spock strode in. "Oh, God, what the hell do you want?"

 

"Merely to ascertain your state of wellness, Dr. McCoy, and that of Lieutenant Valenti." Though Spock appeared unruffled by McCoy's grumbling, Kirk knew the first officer's tells; the minute softening of his expression spoke to Spock’s relief at finding the CMO not only conscious but acting, well, like himself.

 

"I'm fine, as you can plainly see, Spock," McCoy grumbled. "Valenti and the rest of the away team have already been released. They're probably in the mess celebrating over replicated steaks and spaghetti if you want to catch them."

 

"Unnecessary." Spock's expression was serene as he lifted his communicator, fingers moving over the touch pad as he continued. "I will arrange to debrief Lieutenant Valenti tomorrow morning after she has had sufficient nourishment and rest."

 

McCoy's expression brightened. "That is an excellent idea. Feel free to send me the same appointment, Spock, and I'm sure Dr. M'Benga's medical reports will give you all the information you need regarding my injury in the meantime."

 

"I disagree. As your condition was more serious and I am already present it would be prudent to obtain information directly from Dr. M'Benga as it becomes available and conduct your debriefing."

 

McCoy turned an imploring gaze on Kirk. "Jim, would you and Pointy get the hell out of here so the medical professionals can get back to business? I really want off this goddamned bed so I can go back to my quarters, take a goddamned shower, and get some goddamned rest."

 

Kirk folded his arms over his chest. "Wow, Bones--that was a whole lot of goddamns. Sure a sign as any that you're starting to feel better."

 

McCoy's head made a low thunk as he banged it against the biobed. Kirk's lips twitched. He didn't miss the humor in his friend's eyes, or the way McCoy's expression softened; if they could call each other Jim and Bones and rant and tease, things would be okay. _McCoy_ would be okay.

 

"We're not done here, Leonard,” M’Benga warned. “I'm ordering two courses of antimicrobials to get ahead of the infection, and some blood builders to speed up your red cell production, so just sit tight."

 

McCoy's grin was lazy. "Ooh, Bossy Doctor--you know I like that."

 

"I learned from the best," M'Benga declared, placing the tricorder on a tray beside the bed. "I'll ask one of the nurses to help clean you up a little with the sonics, and get most of the blood out of your trousers. I ordered some food up from the mess for you to eat while you're debriefed, too."

 

"That can wait." Kirk licked his lips as the others fell silent--even Spock looked surprised, if the single millimeter rise of his eyebrows was any indication. "There's no reason the debrief can't wait until tomorrow, Spock, especially as Dr. McCoy is still recovering."

 

"It's fine, Captain," McCoy cut in before Spock could reply. He shrugged as Kirk gave him a long look. "You heard Geoff--I'm not going anywhere for at least an hour. May as well do the debrief while I'm stuck here, cause, with all due respect, sir, I'll be sleeping in tomorrow."

 

Kirk stood silent for several moments, weighing his friend's comments. Though clearly exhausted, McCoy looked better for the first time since he'd walked into the great hall on Raipra. The sickly cast to his skin had disappeared, his gaze was alert, and his expression lightened as one of the nurses appeared with a tray of food. Biting back his concerns, Kirk stepped forward, handing McCoy an electrolyte drink pouch from the tray while M'Benga raised the head of the biobed.

 

Kirk waited until the pouch was emptied before turning back to the tray for the bowl of broth. His gaze met McCoy's as he handed him the bowl and a spoon, and he kept one hand on the bowl to keep it steady.

 

"You may begin the debrief, Commander," he told Spock as McCoy began to eat, smiling slightly at his first officer's crisp nod.

 

~oOo~

 

The chronometer read 1500 as Kirk and McCoy made their way into the CMO's quarters. Kirk stuck close as McCoy called for the lights and crossed the room to the bunk, easing himself onto the temper foam mattress. 

 

"Do you want to take a shower?" Kirk frowned as McCoy leaned forward slightly, his elbows coming to rest on his thighs. The doctor looked pale again, and his blinks were lengthening with every second.

 

McCoy blew out a long breath. "That sounds ... really nice. Much as I hate to put it off, I think I'll wait until tomorrow. I gotta hit the head though--all of those fluids are doing what they're supposed to."

 

Kirk helped him up, biting his lip at the heat he felt through the thin material of the scrub shirt McCoy had been given to wear in the medbay. He busied himself turning down the bedding and pulling sleeping garments from the wardrobe, looking up again when McCoy returned to sit on the bunk with a sigh. Kirk bit back a curse as McCoy seemed to pitch forward, darting forward to kneel beside his knee.

 

"Whoa, Bones! You okay?"

 

"Of course, I'm okay," McCoy grumbled, turning a bleary look on Kirk. "I'm tryin' to get my boots off, is all, or is that not allowed?"

 

Heat flashed across Kirk's face and he bent forward to grasp McCoy's left boot with one hand. "Of course that's allowed," he murmured, his other hand on McCoy's shoulder, urging him to sit back. "I'll do it, you shouldn't be bending over that far."

 

McCoy straightened slowly, his expression troubled as Kirk worked open the boot's zip. "Jim ... you don't have to do that." His soft voice made Kirk's chest ache.

 

"I know I don't," he replied, his tone light as he tugged at the boot. "I want to, though." He didn't miss McCoy's sigh as his foot slid free, and took a moment to massage McCoy's instep with his fingers before pulling off the charcoal grey sock and turning to the other boot.

 

"You been wearing these the whole time, Bones?" he asked, knowing full well McCoy would have remained in uniform and at the ready even during periods of rest.

 

"Yeah--wasn't ever time to strip off, not that I would have wanted to," McCoy admitted, groaning as Kirk pulled off his right boot and sock. "I think I'd burn those boots if I could."

 

"We'll get the quartermaster to replicate some new ones for you," Kirk agreed, boosting himself forward to reach for the hem McCoy's shirt. He paused as McCoy's broad, warm hand came to rest over his fingers.

 

"Jim." The doctor's eyes shone grey-green as he looked at Kirk.

 

"Bones?"

 

"You shouldn't ... look, I'm fine, really."

 

Kirk smiled, pulling his hands out from under McCoy's. "I know that. Arms up," he urged, pulling gently at the hem of the shirt and trying not to hold his breath as McCoy slowly did as he was bid.

 

"There's got to be a hundred other things you actually _need_ to be doing." McCoy glowered as the shirt was eased up his torso. "And playing nursemaid to me is not one of them." His breath caught as Kirk worked the garment over his broad shoulders.

 

"I'm where I want to be," Kirk replied. "Where I need to be." Tossing the shirt aside, he laid his hands on either side of McCoy's neck, watching closely as McCoy lowered his arms, his face twisting in a grimace. "Jesus, Bones--you okay?"

 

"Just sore." McCoy reached up to circle Kirk's wrists with his fingers, his voice a pleasant rumble despite his obvious discomfort. "Nothing unexpected, and nothing you need to worry about. The painkillers Geoff gave me when he released me are already kicking in."

 

Kirk nodded. He knew what his friend was doing. He'd seen McCoy in this mode with patients hundreds of times, using that smooth voice and every line of his body and expression to calm and reassure. Kirk wasn't buying the act wholesale this time, though he knew McCoy’s words were true.

 

"Let me do this for you, Bones."

 

"I don't want you to."

 

"Why not?"

 

McCoy's lips twisted. "Because I'm _fine_. This injury is no big deal."

 

Heat crept up Kirk’s cheeks. "You were shot, Bones, and you operated on yourself while being held hostage. I guess my definition of ‘no big deal’ differs from yours.”

 

Kirk’s stomach twisted as McCoy’s expression fell. He leaned in, kissing McCoy with all of the fear, anger, and relief he’d been feeling but so careful to hide. They were both breathless as Kirk broke the kiss, foreheads pressed together while he continued speaking.

 

“If you really need a reason, Bones, then fine, let me do this because I want to. Because you need me to. Because you disappearing like that scared the snot out of me."

 

McCoy’s grip tightened on Kirk’s wrists. "It all ... everything happened so fast. Spock 'n the others were there one second 'n then the rebels were all over Valenti 'n me. They grabbed us, smashed our comms ... I didn't even hear the order for the beam out."

 

The sorrow in McCoy's eyes pricked at Kirk's conscience. Fuck. Kirk knew better than to do this now.

 

"I know." He slid his hands down to squeeze McCoy's shoulders before letting go. "And I promise that we'll give each other endless shit about what happened after we've both had a chance to get some rest. I’ll even bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow morning. For now, though, it's time for all good little doctors to be in bed."

 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," McCoy began, his mouth snapping shut after Kirk reached to press a hand over his heart.

 

Kirk's smile was shaky. "We can talk it to death tomorrow, Bones, or the next day, or whenever you want--I give you my word. Not now, though ... okay?"  

 

McCoy's throat worked as he swallowed, and he was quick to nod. "Yeah, okay."

 

Climbing to his feet, Kirk pulled off his shirts while McCoy worked on what remained of his clothes, peeling off his grey trousers and boxer briefs without a trace of self-consciousness.

 

"Lie down, Bones." Kirk bent down to catch hold of the doctor's ankles, guiding them on to the bed as McCoy eased himself back.

 

"Trust me, I'm way ahead of you, kid." A long and heartfelt groan of pleasure rolled through McCoy's chest as he relaxed into the mattress. "Oh, my God."

 

Kirk's snort of laughter was quiet. He drew the bedding up around McCoy, effectively tucking him in, though McCoy looked too blissed out to care. "Better?"

 

"I'm never gettin' up again. Consider this my resignation," McCoy drawled, fatigue making his words slur together in a way that Kirk would have found hilarious under other circumstances.

 

Kirk didn't laugh, though. "Resignation denied, Doctor," he murmured, watching McCoy for another moment before he gathered up his friend's discarded clothing and took it to the recycler. He toed off his own boots and stripped down to his boxers, ordering the lights down as he slid into bed beside McCoy.

 

Turning on to his side, Kirk stared at his lover, whose features were just visible in the gloom. McCoy's mouth had fallen slightly open and his breaths seemed very loud in the room's silence, making Kirk's heart squeeze with worry. He inched closer, reaching out to place his hand on McCoy's chest, seeking reassurance in its steady rise and fall. He froze when McCoy stirred, turning in Kirk's direction with a sleepy hum.

 

"M'okay, Jim."

 

"I know you are." Kirk slid forward, his words more affirmation than acknowledgement, and slipped an arm around McCoy's chest.

 

"I’m holdin’ you to that breakfast in bed."

 

Kirk swallowed hard around the lump that rose in his throat, pressing a kiss to McCoy's shoulder. "I’ll figure out how to replicate a stack of pancakes," he whispered, drawing McCoy into his arms with care. The doctor's body was warm and loose, limbs heavy in a way that was unfamiliar. Kirk's eyes stung as McCoy settled against him without returning the embrace, clearly too physically wrung out to move.

 

"Bones?"

 

"Mmm?"

 

"Thanks for coming back."

 

McCoy's chuckle was barely a whisper of warm breath against Kirk's neck. "Thanks for coming to get me."

 

Kirk managed a smile, breathing in the smell of sweat and musk and Bones. “No big deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Starfleet Regulation 476.9 states that an away team will check in with the bridge once every twenty-four hours. I fudged it a little because hostages.
> 
> Title from the UNKLE song of the same name.


End file.
